'Jephtha' was Handel's final oratorio. He was losing his sight during its composition - ironic, perhaps, that his zealot hero is undone by what he sees at a crucial moment. And, given the work's power and torment, it is hard not to sense Handel raging against the literal dying of the light.
For those unfamiliar with the story… the Israelites are living under Ammonite rule, and starting to assimilate. Fearful that the Israelites' identity will eventually be absorbed and vanish, Zebul recalls his brother, their exiled leader Jephtha, to lead a rebellion. Jephtha is a fundamentalist who believes in - and expects - strict adherence to the laws of the faith. Overconfident, he makes a vow to God that if he is victorious over the Ammonites, he will sacrifice or give to God the first living being he sees.
This turns out to be his daughter, Iphis, who has come to meet him. Jephtha is horrified and grief-stricken, but remains determined to go through with the sacrifice - despite the torment suffered by his wife, Storgé, and Iphis's betrothed, Hamor. Ultimately, an angel arrives just in time to remind Jephtha that his vow allows him to spare Iphis if she remains a virgin and dedicates her life to God.
It's worth noting that 'Jephtha' was not written as a 'visual' work. Like operas, oratorios involve soloists, chorus and orchestra performing a sung-through narrative. However, two key differences: oratorios typically deal with sacred texts or stories; and they are given without costume or sets - as if in concert, so to speak. (I would assume the most widely known - and possibly loved - oratorio is Handel's 'Messiah'.) Oratorios provided a solution where staged productions with a religious theme were problematic - in fact, they were officially forbidden at the time 'Jephtha' was composed.
Perhaps this is one reason why it's not uncommon for certain oratorios - 'Jephtha' among them - to be staged. (This seems to be the ROH's current approach to Handel, following Katie Mitchell's super-charged version of 'Theodora' in 2022.) Maybe some directors are aiming to restore a 'missing' dimension to the work that they believe the producers would have included, were they able to, at the time. Or perhaps they feel the piece will come across more powerfully if there are actions supporting the words and music.
To be honest, I'm still grappling with some of this. Taking a work like 'Jephtha' as an example suggests there is something about the oratorio form - precisely because of its devotional aspects, its necessarily plain presentation - that prompts the composer to pour everything into the music. All of the impact needs to be concentrated into what the audience can hear. Accordingly, great oratorios can stand alone: they don't need the extra trimmings.
What they do require is incredible voices, and this production certainly provides those. I think this was one of the most brilliantly cast shows I've seen at the ROH. The central couple, Jephtha and his wife Storgé, were played by Allan Clayton and Alice Coote. Both are consummate actor-singers, able to reach and convey extremes - both physically as well as vocally - and both bring complete fearlessness to their characterisations.
Clayton has the ability to move between arrogance and diffidence, giving the impression of almost expanding and contracting onstage. His Jephtha is a violent, charismatic leader, but with the constant suggestion that the confidence is top-heavy, boldness built on insecure, rickety foundations. His voice widens imperiously as Clayton brings out the capricious bully, onto to narrow it to a tender, broken plea for the famous aria 'Waft her, angels, through the skies'.
Meanwhile, Coote's scenes give her ample room to convey Storgé's anger and anguish. There's something about her singing I have always admired (as it repeatedly floored me), where she can somehow bend and shape her timbre around any emotion she needs to convey and catapult it like a missile into the audience. Single notes from her have frozen my blood, or warmed my heart. This character is an ideal showcase for that gift: when Storgé is confronted with the prospect of Jephtha sacrificing Iphis, she begins a recitative 'First perish thou', and I could feel the intimidation, the white-hot fury behind it, up in the amphitheatre. (This is 'the gods' seating tier in the ROH.)
And importantly, neither Clayton nor Coote shy away from ugly sounds. No doubt there are directorial decisions involved in this, too - but where necessary, they punctuate their razor-sharp delivery of the score with cries, shouts, breakdowns, never letting either the singing or the acting over-balance the other.
Jennifer France as Iphis and Cameron Shahbazi as Hamor were well-matched, their super-agile voices dovetailing around each other as, initially, they flirted and play-acted. However, the production also gave them full rein to underline - or undercut - the text's sentiments physically. An example of this that struck me particularly was Shahbazi's agitated, jittery movements after returning from war, suggesting battle scars, even post-traumatic stress disorder. Brindley Sherratt's Zebul was the implacable still point around which Jephtha and his family crumble.
This attention to emotional realism in the acting and direction brings me back to the production itself. Perhaps the greatest appeal in staging an oratorio is the 'blank canvas' starting-point: all the visual/physical aspects can be created afresh.
Here, the creative team were seemingly possessed by a hive mind with clear, united intentions. All are worthy of a namecheck: director Oliver Mears, movement Anna Morrissey, set design Simon Lima Holdsworth, lighting Fabiana Piccioli and costume Ilona Karas.
I felt that three separate 'currents' were running through the production, providing its electricity. There was the original oratorio itself, moving, affecting and inevitably a little rarefied, elevated. Then, creating tension with the work, was the physical realism and commitment to emotional honesty from the case. And last but not least, was the modern, abstract, even brutal visual environment.
Walls with carved scripture formed an ever-present backdrop, moving like vertical slabs to suggest different locations. As they close in on Jephtha, they emphasise how his words have become a trap - even to the point where he forgets the loophole in his own vow until reminded. And then the lighting doubles down on this, Piccioli targeting the glare on Clayton as if Heaven was looking at Jephtha through the sight of a rifle. In one memorable scene, a despairing Jephtha is pushed to the front of the stage by a wall and onto the floor by the light, reducing his stage space to a tiny, virtual cage.
Glimpses of colour in this monochrome world are rare - beyond the walls, we initially see the Ammonites, blissfully unaware of their fate, brightly dressed (sporting Handel-era raiment), in ivory-tower, carefree cavort-mode. This is in stark contrast to the puritanical greys and blacks worn by the Israelites. This may be to some extent symbolic of servitude, but part of the problem (in the plot) is that the Israelites are adjusting to Ammonite customs - religious practices included. So it is just as easy to assume that Jephtha's hardline, literal enforcement of Christian law has in fact drained the spirit from his people.
As that interpretation would suggest, this version of Jephtha had some points to make about religion and oppression. Not, I hasten to add, about world events which occurred long after this was conceived and planned - but it warns of the dangers of blind belief, the lack of nuanced thinking and the ease with which a leader could turn dictator.
In a sequence of events which I won't spoil - in case this is broadcast or revived - the production follows through on its convictions and challenges the events of the oratorio. Some purists might have flinched, but with this cast breathing fire with every word, living every gesture, I was pleased to submit to its rule.
AA
(All images are from the ROH press photos, taken by Marc Brenner.)
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